


Late Night Cravings

by loOkMA_iTyPeLiKeDiS



Series: Plance Through The Years [12]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: F/M, Floof, Insatiable Cravings, Lance (Voltron) is a Good Boyfriend, Pidge | Katie Holt is So Done, Pidge | Katie Holt is a Mess, Pregnancy, Soft Plance, Strong Pregnancy Hormones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2021-01-18 18:31:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21281306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loOkMA_iTyPeLiKeDiS/pseuds/loOkMA_iTyPeLiKeDiS
Summary: Her life was over.And all because she had no strawberries on her damn stupid cake.
Relationships: Lance/Pidge | Katie Holt
Series: Plance Through The Years [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1193453
Comments: 20
Kudos: 66





	Late Night Cravings

**Author's Note:**

> needed to write something soft and mushy to switch things up for a bit ^^

The fifteenth time Pidge couldn’t ignore the awkward gurgling of her stomach, she’d had enough.

It was one thing to be turning around in bed, unable to find a comfy position to settle into her sleep—unable to sleep at all really—but to suffer from constant pangs in her stomach? Pidge grumbled to herself, staring at the ceiling as she absentmindedly pet the roundness of her belly, trying to calm down her grumpy little baby raging for food.

She’d been loafing around in bed all afternoon and evening at the command of her obstetrician (and her father, who’d kicked her out of the lab for the day and told her to go home). Pidge had wanted to work that day but there was no way she could focus on either of her theses when her brain was on full shut down mode. But even trying to sleep was a struggle. The sheets felt too scratchy on her skin, and even though they were nice and unwashed—she _refused_ to sleep on anything that smelled like fresh laundry; the smell of detergent was too strong—it couldn’t quell her ailing stomach.

She needed food.

“Strawberries…” she whispered to herself, sitting up with a slight grunt and feeling a surge of excitement as she thought about popping one of the tart, tangy fruits in her mouth. The fresh juice dribbling down her throat. The essence of the sweet scent and flavour that would fill her mouth and nostrils once she bit into the delightful treat. “Yupp. _Definitely_ strawberries.”

The sudden lifting of her mood from her definitive plan made her heart pound. It was the first thing she’d had energy for all day, the first thing that actually motivated her to try today, and just the thought of munching on a perfect, crisp, fresh strawberry had saliva pooling in her mouth.

Pidge clambered out of bed, tying her tangled hair up in a sloppy bun as she stuffed her feet in her slippers and wobbled awkwardly out of the bedroom to get to the kitchen. As if sensing the sudden change in plans, her baby started having a dance party on her bladder again, in what Pidge determined to be a sassy _finally_.

(Don’t ask her how she knew. She just _knew_).

“_Hey_. Don’t you start sassing me before you’re even born, young lady. You owe me reparations, you know?” Pidge murmured to the swell, rubbing it gently with her hand until the thwacks from her baby finally settled and calmed down some. “Once you get a steady job in the future, you owe me a million dollars for these months of hell.”

A harder kick, closer to her ribs.

“_Fine_.” Pidge rolled her eyes playfully. “Half a million. But only because you’re cute, Pidgeon.”

But that still didn’t change the fact that _somebody_ owed her for what she’d gone through so far. She didn't know who. But they owed her big time.

She was miserable the first trimester, finally started to get the hang of pregnancy by her late second trimester when the morning sickness finally stopped, started showing at 26 weeks, and stopped being able to function like a grown adult by week 32.

At 34 weeks along, her memory was shot, she had a stupid little waddle going on because her hips were sore, her back felt like shit, and her baby was pinching a nerve so she couldn’t sit or lie certain ways, and she officially couldn’t see any of her toes over her abdomen anymore sitting or standing so _that_ was distressing as hell. Pidge was already a short woman. She was pretty sure she looked like a duck now.

It was awful. She was unable to ever sleep because her daughter was deadset on bursting out of her stomach like that thing from Alien. Unable to poop some days and felt so clogged up. Unable to eat when she had cravings because they always made her sick as soon as she ate it. Not to mention _everything_ smelled and made her want to puke. 

Pregnancy had been going okay but now it kinda sucked.

And now she wanted to punch all of those stupid lying women in the pictures and images showing themselves rubbing their stomachs and looking all at peace this far along.

Plus she felt so bad for Lance. At the best parts of her pregnancy—which lasted a measly three weeks—she’d been a horn dog, insatiable, and it definitely made up for all the sick weeks. But then everything took a turn for the miserable. Lance already had to deal with her constant mood swings, there was that chunk of months when being near him made her sick to her stomach, and she couldn’t help but feel concerned over the fact that her high hormones had killed her sex drive. It wasn’t like Lance ever complained, but to go from super active to almost never must have been torture for him. And she knew med school was stressful for him. She wasn’t making it any easier for him either, but she couldn’t help it.

Her mother kept telling her the bad cravings were par for the course for carrying a Holt baby and Lance’s mother kept telling her the absolutely damn bonkers emotions were par for the course for carrying a McClain baby, but Pidge didn’t give a damn whose genes were responsible for her misery. She just wanted her daughter to be born already! Nine months was too long and she still had weeks to go that were slowly driving her insane.

And Lance wasn’t home yet even though he was supposed to be and she really missed him and missing him so much made her emotional.

Pidge was so close to taking a chainsaw to everything in the apartment because she was so fed up feeling so out of control all the time.

“Your first child is always the hardest, they said…” she muttered under her breath. “It gets easier with later kids, they said…”

The way things were turning out, this was about to be the _only_ baby.

Mid-November couldn’t come fast enough. She just wanted to feel the weight of her sweet baby in her arms already.

Pidge opened up the fridge and rummaged around for the strawberry shortcake she’d picked up yesterday. Soft, urgent kicks danced along the side of her abdomen, a subtle reminder to hurry up. Pidge hummed to herself in silly excitement. She didn’t particularly want the cake, but the strawberries with just the slightest hint of fresh cream made for a very good—

And she froze when she pulled out the clear case, dread stilling her.

There were no strawberries on top of her cake.

There were indentations of the butt of the strawberries. There was the gloopy faux strawberry sauce. There was leaked red residue and even a couple of seeds.

But the three strawberries were gone.

The desperation hit her hard, and the lack of relief made her stomach drop to her feet. Where were her strawberries? It was like waking up in the morning after a snowy evening, hoping and praying that there would be enough to cancel school for the day only to learn that it had stopped in the middle of the night.

Her life was _over_.

And all because she had no strawberries on her damn stupid cake.

Pidge’s throat tightened, the back of her eyes stinging the longer she stared at it. She let out a slow, shuddering breath, eyes pooling with tears, so completely disappointed. It was the _one_ thing she wanted this evening, the _one _thing that would have gotten her through the night, and she couldn’t even have that.

Pidge was seriously considering going through with her chainsaw fantasies when the door unlocked with a click, and Lance trudged inside, carefully balancing a brown paper bag with the mail. He sighed as he tossed his keys and the mail by the door but when he saw her in the kitchen, his face lit up.

“Oh Pidge, you’re still awake?” he asked around a loud yawn, tugging at the collar of his scrubs as he dragged his feet to the kitchen. “How are both my girls doing?”

He set the bag on the counter and hugged her from behind, kissing the back of her head and resting his hands on her abdomen as he’d taken to doing more readily now that she was a balloon.

“Move, you sperm machine. I don’t want affection. I want vindication!” Even so, she cuddled herself up in his arms, sinking into the embrace and glad he had a steady hold on her so she could stop relying so heavily on her own feet. “This is your fault for being so insatiably horny all the time!”

Lance chuckled beside her ear and she could just feel the smarmy smile on his lips. “It’s really not my fault you have a baby friendly uterus. But then again, I’ve always been a strong swimmer so…”

“I’ll sic my mom on you, Lance.”

“You are just _extra_ adorable today, aren’t ya?” Lance drawled, sliding his hands up to her shoulders and kneading the tight knots so perfectly that she practically became putty in his hands. It was the absolute best and she sagged into him, forgetting for a second that she was mad at him for getting her pregnant. “Just want to make my future wifey happy. A happy wife equals a happy Lance.”

“The only way you can make me happy is if you speed up the incubation so this baby can get done baking faster.” Pidge groaned in bliss when he ground his fingers in a perfectly sore spot. “This building a kid from scratch thing isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, you know?”

“She’s not a robot, babe.”

“Why can’t she be one?! I can finish a robot in a week!”

“You said you wanted me to put a baby in you~” Lance joked, letting her go so she could turn around and pout up at him. “Technically, I did my job.”

“Prematurely, you nut! I didn’t mean _this_ year.”

“Again… not my fault you have a—”

“I’m literally going to murder you,” she growled, irritated with his levity.

It wasn’t funny that she was in the one percent of people where the birth control pill was ineffective. Yes, her doctor had advised her to possibly switch out to an implant since the side effects weren’t pleasant, but Pidge hadn’t at the time because she wanted to do research. She’d thought they’d be fine. But no one had expected _this_ surprise. Their baby had decided she wanted to exist and she wanted to exist now, come hell or high water.

The timing wasn’t altogether bad, but they’d planned to get married in two years, so those plans would probably have to be put on the back burner for now.

“I mean, you can if you want, but I think you’ll find it worth your while not to,” Lance responded slowly, a mischievous smile on his face as he tore the side of the brown package to reveal…

Strawberry shortcake.

And not just any old shortcake.

Her favourite from that quaint bakery by the Pierogi place about a half hour away from their place.

And not just one box.

_Eight_ of them. All pristine and perfectly made with the strawberries on top.

There was no way to describe the all-encompassing relief she felt finally seeing the treat she’d been longing for. Her eyes watered before she could even stop the rise of tears, and she covered her mouth with a shaking hand.

“I noticed you picked off all the strawberries from the top of the cake yesterday so I went to go buy you some more,” he said, gently wrapping an arm around her shoulders to pull her to his side.

“I…” Pidge burrowed her face in his chest, her throat tightening like she was on the verge of crying and she knew she was fighting a losing battle. “When did you even have time for this? You’re in inpatient surgery for your rotation.”

And it wasn’t on the way either. At minimum, he’d spent an hour driving just to get her some cake.

“Yeah and it sucks and the resident I’m shadowing is a prick and coming in at 5 am and leaving at 7 pm is making me want to rip my hair out of my head. But who cares about that?” He tweaked her nose in fond exasperation as if it was obvious. “My Pidgey is suffering. And I wanted to make it better.”

Pidge whimpered, sniffling softly and unable to stop the torrent of her emotions as she started crying. She tried to hold it back, but she couldn’t and quietly sobbed, wiping at her eyes in irritation. He looked so tired and it was already late and he should have been in bed already and she felt so bad, and he was being _way_ too nice for her to handle right now.

Lance sighed and squished her cheeks together until she looked like a duck. “Jeez, Katie. This is a happy thing.”

“I’m sorry, I know… but I saw an old woman yesterday when I was walking in the park and she had this tiny little terrier. And he was so damn _small_. And she told me he was like fifteen, which means he’s probably going to die soon,” Pidge blubbered, her nose getting clogged as she sniffled, “and it just made me so sad because the dog’s name is _Lance_ and he had a dopey face and he looked just like you and then I cried in a stupid restaurant bathroom when I realised I was being ridiculous so I bought cake and ate the strawberries off and forgot I put it back in the fridge and I wanted to eat strawberries today and I was so excited to have strawberries on my cake and I couldn’t find any strawberries. And then your stupid ass showed up with eight cakes and now I have twenty-four strawberries!”

“So why are you crying?” Lance snorted, rubbed her back in soothing circles. “You got your strawberries, didn’t you?”

She wiped the tears from her eyes and cheeks roughly and used her sleeve to wipe the snot on her upper lip. “It’s not about the strawberries, Lance! Don’t you get it?! You do too much and if you overwork yourself, you’ll end up like Lance the dog!”

He blinked at her for a second, brows furrowed as he tried to connect the dots, but from the flat look on his face, nothing was coming to mind. And then he turned away abruptly. She distinctly caught his lips twitching and shoulders shaking as if he was fighting the urge to laugh out loud.

“Stop laughing!” she demanded, slapping at his chest.

“Pidge… I mean, it’s valid, but… I’m sorry. Your face is just…” Lance stared at the ceiling, gnawing on his lower lip through an obvious amused grin. “I know my limits. And while third year is hell right now, I’m handling it. I knew what I was getting into with med school. I’m not going anywhere, okay? And I’m definitely not going to end up like Lance the dog. We’re in our twenties, Pidge. That’s a long time from now.”

“You’re right. God…” Her face twisted as she tried to keep from laughing. Her brain was really cycling through some ridiculous reactions, and even though she knew it was wild, it just made so much sense in her head to cry. “My hormones are making me all crazy.”

“You’re a pregnant gremlin. I don’t expect anything less to be honest,” Lance said playfully before planting both hands on her shoulders and gently spinning her around to guide her out of the kitchen. “Tell you what. Go sit on the couch, relax, get comfy. I’ll plate some cake, and while you eat, how about I give you a nice foot massage?”

She wanted to protest, wanted to tell him to go sleep, but he seemed determined and before she knew it, he’d gotten her in a nice little cocoon on the couch, wrapped her with a warm knit afghan, and stuffed pillows around her in a cage so she could be at ease. By the time he’d made her a nice little nest, Pidge didn’t even want to fight being pampered.

“And just so we’re clear: I’ll never grow tired of you.” Lance leaned down and lifted up the front of her shirt to rest his hands on Pidge’s baby belly. And like clockwork, their baby stopped acting up and calmed down. “Or you, Pidgeon.”

“Wow… so she turns my uterus black and blue all day, but is on her best behaviour for her father. Lance, we made a troll.”

“She takes after you confirmed then.”

He laughed, kneeling on the carpet to press a soft kiss on the roundness right above her navel, and Pidge couldn’t help the warmth spreading in her chest from the serene look of sheer happiness in Lance’s eyes. He was murmuring to her stomach, speaking low in Spanish and something about the sight made her heart swell to like three times its actual size.

He was going to be such a great father, and the thought made her emotional because _years_ ago—with all those months they’d struggled to be friends again after they’d both hurt each other multiple times—she never ever would have thought they’d end up here someday. Almost married and building their life together with a kid on the way.

“Lance?” Pidge murmured, gently massaging the sides of the swell in hopes of lulling her baby to a more pacified state. “You know I love you so much, right?”

Lance rose to his feet and tilted up her chin to press his lips to hers in a long kiss, soothing and familiar, and her pulse raced from the warmth behind it. Pidge’s heart stuttered in her chest, much the same way it had so many years ago when they’d shared their first kiss under mistletoe.

“I love you too, mi cielo,” he whispered, lips still pressed to hers. “Even if you are nuts.”

He leaned back and dropped a soft kiss on her forehead and with a last smile, straightened up and headed back to the kitchen.

“Just give me like two minutes. I’ll have it out right away!”

Pidge curled further up in the soft afghan, a huge stupid grin on her face, because Lance was literally a dream come true. Her emotions had been all over the place for so many weeks, and the fact that he was so patient with her in spite of that was the best thing she could ever ask for.

She only hoped when their little Pidgeon came, she would have the same generous giving warmth as her father.

And speaking of warm…

“Hey, uh… Lance?” Pidge called out, a sheepish grimace on her face. “I don't really want strawberries anymore. Can you bake me a fresh pumpkin loaf instead?”


End file.
